Poker Face | Bruce Wayne

twelve

"Bruce?" she asked softly, clasping her hands to her chest as if she was approaching a dangerous animal. She looked to Gregory. "What happened?"

No one seemed to want to give her an answer, which filled her throat with dread. The tension in the room was starting to get increasingly scarier. Someone needed to turn the air conditioning off.

"Mare," her father's voice was now a low whisper, and fear sunk into her stomach. He never addressed her by her nickname. "It's Thomas and Martha... they..."

A silence fell across the mansion again.

"They're gone."

"Oh." She cocked her head, somewhat feeling relieved. That didn't sound so bad. "Gone where?"

There was that long pause again, and she suddenly found Alfred's hand on her shoulder. The man bent down to her level and looked at her sympathetically. "They are not coming back, Meredith."

She scrunched her eyebrows. "W-what do you mean? Whenever Uncle Tommy and Aunt Martha go away, they always come back. Why is mommy so sad?"

"They died, Mare." Devin's words cut across the room, leaving a horrible, sinking terror in their wake. She blinked, looking over to her brother. Angry tears streamed down his face. Everything seemed to move in slow motion as she glanced at each person in the room. Dying wasn't good. Dying was very, very bad from what her parents had told her. She should always be careful because if she wasn't she might die, her mother told her. Were Thomas and Martha not careful?

Devin's words replayed in her head. They died.

"W-why?"

"There are—" Alfred's voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. "There are some very bad people out there, Miss Meredith. Someone hurt them."

"And they, a-and they couldn't be fixed?" She found tears prickling in her eyes, holding her hands tightly. The room was too cold and her body was shivering. "Mommy is a nurse, can't she fix them?"

Alfred drew her into his chest. His face looked heavy and sad and a lot of other things Meredith didn't understand. "Some things can not be fixed, Dear."

"I- I don't g-get it," her voice felt constricted. She pushed away from the butler. "They aren't coming back?"

Alfred shook his head, swallowing a lump in his throat. A few tears escaped his light grey eyes— she'd never seen Alfred cry before. "I'm afraid not."

"Ever?" She pulled at her fingers, chewing on her lip. Her breath was starting to become uneven. Uncle Tommy would never swing her around again? Aunt Martha had the matching necklace to Meredith's favorite bracelet, how would they be matching if she wasn't there?

The front doorbell rang— a booming, cold sound against the silence of the living room. It distracted her from the onslaught of tears that were about to spill from her eyes. Alfred wiped his own tears with his suit jacket, standing back up to his full height. He turned to her parents.

"That would be Commissioner Peter Blake. I believe he wishes to talk to the two of you." He gave his attention specifically to her mother. "Eleanor—"

Her mother let out a ragged sigh, sitting up straighter and batting her hands at her eyes. Hiccups spilled from her mouth as she stood up and nodded profusely. "I know, I— okay. Okay." She sobbed again before standing up. "I'll talk to him."

Eleanor was still in a silk robe as she hurriedly walked down the hall to the foyer, gentle cries trailing after her.

"C-can I come?" Devin's voice was harsh through his tears.